


2019 Vegebulocracy Summer Prompt Challenge

by Armored_Dragon



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, Fast Cars, Fluff and Smut, Post-Cell Games Saga, Pre-Majin Buu Saga, Vegebul Summer Prompt Week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-05-18 11:24:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19333558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armored_Dragon/pseuds/Armored_Dragon
Summary: A set of seven steamy scenes between our favourite DBZ couple aligning with this year's Summer Prompt Challenge at Vegebulocracy.





	1. Prompt 1 - Sunbathing

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for stopping by. If you enjoy what you read, please consider following me at my new Tumblr page https://armored-dragon-blog.tumblr.com
> 
> Full steam ahead on the smut train! Choo-choooooo

The horrific noises from Bulma’s outdoor lab were what drew him into the vicinity. High pitched drill whines, thuds of hammers and the sounds of a dying engine sputtering out, all irritated his sensitive hearing in vastly different ways. Who knew the woman could find yet another way to torture him. 

Vegeta strode determinedly down the path towards the hastily erected outdoor laboratory which mostly comprised of white tarpaulin stretched across poles and bolted into the lawn with wicked looking stakes. His wife had set it up a week ago when she came home one afternoon absolutely over the moon ecstatic about some sort of purchase she’d made. Since then, she’d sequestered herself away every spare moment - while he trained, while their infant son, Trunks attended the last days of nursery, even when he sought her out for entirely selfish purposes. Every spare moment locked away.

He approached the sliding panel that went for a door on the temporary structure, and without preamble, clasped the handle, pulling it aside. Inside was typical Bulma chaos, there were machine parts strewn out on a layer of the same tarpaulin, benches full of tools with Kami-knew what purpose and in the centre what could only be described as the skeleton of a large machine, held up by metal plinths and lying on a textured metal platform, lifting it just off the floor.

His absent wife appeared from behind said skeleton and hurried towards him. She wore her favourite grey overalls, stripped down and tied at the waist - he had just enough time and distance to take in her bikini top and the swell of her creamy breasts available for just about anyone wandering the compound to see. The prince felt a possessive growl reverberate in his chest and with some effort, managed to stamp it out before it was audible to humans. Here on their grounds, it was unlikely any of the lab techs would wander by, but still, maybe he should survey the area for any of the Earth guardians stumbling by.

Vegeta stood in the doorway and glowered, folding his arms across his chest, muscles stretching beneath the black tee he wore.

“Woman, what are you doing in here? This is not my gravity room or the capsule lab, so out with it.” He demanded, taking in the scene. Her blue hair was tied up messily, and she was smeared with grease. The whole workshop smelled of oil, gasoline and metal - not the usual scents of sterilised metal and chemicals.

She closed the distance between them, smiling brightly, wiping her hands off on a rag and stuffing it into a back pocket. She had on overly large sneakers that the prince thought were impractical but were apparently in fashion this season, they too were scuffed and dirty. “Get out! You can’t be here yet, she’s not ready!” Bulma insisted, making shooing motions with her hands. She came up against the wall of his chest, and when he didn’t budge, she slapped him affectionately on the shoulder - and if she lingered just a little longer on the hard muscle beneath her palm, then that was her prerogative. The alien prince was, after all her husband. A very handsome one at that.

“I have a lot of work to do, and I’m in the _zone_ , so no distractions please!” When he didn’t move but continued to glare at her with those grey, sullen eyes, she placed a hand lightly on his forearm and leaned forward to kiss him chastely on the nose. “The _zone_ , Vegeta! Now get lost, mad scientist at work.”

“You have been locked up in here all morning. Did you even eat at all yet?” His uncompromising stance loosened, his frown turning concerned at the sobering thought.

Bulma didn’t miss a beat, seeing her opportunity she gripped his shoulders and swivelled him around in the opposite direction, giving a firm push to his delectable backside. “No time, I can’t focus on anything else right now until I get the floor reinstalled.” He glanced over his shoulder in consternation at her as he cleared the doorway. She waved cheerily at him then slid the door closed. A moment later, the earsplitting noises started up again.

Casting one more seething look back at the doorway, Vegeta chuffed out a breath, shrugged and started back the way he’d come. If his wife would not attend him, then he would amuse himself.

The sun beat down on Capsule Corporation grounds without mercy, an odd fluffy cloud drifting sluggishly above. Summer was in full swing and from what he could tell, it was an unusually hot one as the greenery was beginning to wilt under the relentless assault. The first bushes, too far away from the stronger, older trees, had shrivelled in the blistering heat and in places, the well-tended lawns of the compound had growing patches of sunbaked, dry earth as even the grass struggled under the oppressive sun.

On all his travels, he had never come across a planet with such warming light. Summer on Earth and on this continent, in particular, was heavy, sweltering and he loved it. One advantage to making your permanent home on a planet was that you got to experience the favourable weather and actually had leisure time - he’d never really had leisure time in all his military career under Freeza. At first, the concept was alien to him - doing something for nothing but the pleasure of doing so - but since abandoning his warlording across the galaxy and after Cell had been vanquished, there was little else to do. No fights to really train hard for other than to maintain his body. With Kakarot gone, there wasn’t even anyone to really challenge him anymore.

Some hours later, Bulma finally emerged into the lazy heat of the afternoon from her self imposed exile with a satisfied grin. Her latest project was coming along nicely - a beautiful, vintage Chevrolet lovingly acquired from a less than caring previous owner and currently living under the tarpaulin roof of her makeshift workshop. She had personally taken the car apart right down to the nuts and bolts, cleaned each individual piece and was currently reassembling it - with some added flare of course.

But further work could wait. She needed food, and she needed a well-deserved drink. Her grumbling stomach had finally dragged her out of the zone and wouldn’t allow her to return to it until appeased. So she headed back towards the family building with a skip in her step at the prospect of her newest edition to the Briefs fleet of classic cars.

Turning the corner, she let herself in through the back gate nearest the pool and spotted her alien warlord at the far end of the tiled arena. She paused, taking a moment to drink her fill, the sight of him, scarred skin stretched tightly over muscle, compact and built for strength and speed. Glorious. She bit her lip, tasting cherry balm and just paused for a moment to admire him. Her heartbeat drummed in her breast, mind scrambling over the fact that she was married to one of Earths most powerful guardians.

Vegeta never saw himself as a protector of course - too much proverbial blood on his hands - but she knew. He stayed on the planet not because he had nowhere else to go but because this was his home and she knew enough about Saiyans to know that they protected what was theirs jealously.

Right now, he was sunbathing, lying on his front and dozing, his cheek cushioned in the pillow of his arms. And the best part, she thought hotly, was that he wore only a pair of swimming briefs which hugged his butt like pure sin. 

Bulma Briefs was suddenly thirsty for a very different reason, and she changed her course appropriately to intercept with him.

 

He heard her coming before her shadow fell across him - humans were so unbelievably poor at being silent or otherwise making themselves unnoticeable. Raising a dark brow in question, refusing to open his eyes.

The lounger dipped slightly as she perched and leaned forward over him to run her fingers through his thick hair. “Are you asleep?” She whispered overly loud.

“Woman, not even the dead, could sleep with you stomping around.” He replied, still not opening his eyes, but with the ghost of a smile on his lips as he allowed her to pet him. He had a badman reputation to uphold among their circle of acquaintances so he would never admit to anyone that Vegeta IV, Prince of all Saiyans, enjoyed her nimble fingers toying with his mane like some house cat.

“Plus you smell.” He added, screwing up his nose.

Bulma laughed and tousled his dark hair, which he winced at curling in on himself and inadvertently making more room on the lounger for her. “I don’t complain when you start groping me when you’re sweaty and dirty from training, so the least you can do is put up with me like this for a moment.” She replied tartly, shuffling into the space he’d vacated.

Giving up on the notion of a quiet afternoon napping in the scorching sun, Vegeta shifted, rolling onto his back. Hooking his arms beneath her, he hoisted her up and into his lap, taking the lions share of the space available. “Maybe you should get to grope me then since I’m the clean one and you’re the filthy one?” He asked, hopefully, sliding the arm out from under her knees and tracing the outline of her thigh.

He leaned into her, dipping his head to her neck and filled his lungs. Sweat, oil and his mate. Vegeta scraped his teeth across her soft, pale skin, making a questioning sound when she didn’t immediately reply.

“Pervert.” She stated quite sure of the label. “We can’t, not out here. My parents are just in the dome next door and Trunks will be back home soon.” She pushed against his chest weakly, squirming, but her protest dissipated into a shudder as her husband kissed a scorching trail to her earlobe, back down to the join between shoulder and neck, then sank his fangs into her flesh. A moan escaped her throat as her body tightened exquisitely.

“The boy won’t be home for ages yet. Besides, I would sense his ki if he were near.” Vegeta replied matter of factly, lapping apologetically at the small mark his teeth had left. Her skin tasted salty with sweat, and he didn’t bother to hide the rumble of approval in his chest. The hand on her thigh slid over her hip and waist, spaying across her ribcage. He traced his thumb along the underside of her breast, and she squirmed delectably on his lap.

“And my parents?” Bulma was not so easily convinced. That said, her mate’s attentions were very quickly gaining her body’s vote to throw caution to the wind. His calloused thumb pad rasped across her skin, trailing a shiver in its wake. Arousal stirred deep in her stomach, and the scrape of her clothing was almost too much to bear.

Vegeta paused in his ministrations, leaning back, his dark, coal grey eyes growing distant as he reached out to his surroundings. A moment later and his burning gaze refocussed on her with predatory intent. “Not at home, it would seem. I have you all to myself.” He surged forward, cupping the back of her head and drawing her down to his lips. He lapped patiently at the seam until she relented and opened for him, taking control and sliding his tongue across hers, demanding her full attention.

His wife obligingly sank into him further, her body yielding unconsciously to him and if he still had his Oozaru spirit inside, he was sure it would have been roaring victoriously.

Her scent had changed, and he pressed the advantage, hooking his thumb under the neoprene of the bikini top followed by the rest of his hand. She fit perfectly in his palm, his darker skin in contrast with her pale colouring. He captured the nipple between his fingers and rolled expertly, grinning cockily against her bubblegum pink lips when her breath hitched in surprise. She tasted of cherries and distantly, he thought, between her taste and her scent, he would be hard-pressed to stop what they were starting shy of a natural disaster engulfing the compound.

She tore away from him to catch her breath, arching into his touch hungrily. He didn’t let her get far from him, following her body closely, nipping at her jawline.

Bulma’s heart skipped a beat, the knowledge that there was no one nearby, leaving her entirely at the mercy of her very own, personal alien warlord. The thought would have scared and excited her in equal measure once upon a time, but now it made her feel extremely powerful. This man was capable of destroying planets, but right now, his hands only gave her pleasure. She had done that to him and while she doubted he would ever be completely tame - and what was the excitement in having a tame house cat when you could have a jaguar? - She liked to think his mind was too preoccupied these days to dwell overly much on his destructive power and focus more on how it could be turned to more worthy goals. Regardless, power oozed from his every pore, and she tasted the distinct flavour of ozone from it.

Her head spun at the sensory overload, tiny shocks of pleasure arced from where they touched, straight to her core, and she squeezed her thighs together against the rush of heat pooling low in her body.

The scent of her arousal was heavy around him, and he drank it down greedily. It was perhaps his most favourite scent in the known universe and meant that his mate needed him, the fact of which did plenty of dark, sinful things to his pride, the knowledge that he did this to her. Vegeta had never wanted anything for his own so much as he had wanted all of her. Around her, his past could be forgotten for a few hours, the ghosts that haunted him and the blood on his hands were all washed away when she looked at him with her shockingly blue gaze.

She dipped her head back down to his, and he let her possess him, submitting to her in a way he would do for no other. She controlled the ferocity of their kiss and his head swam, filled with her. She kept it light to his frustration, slow, and he fought the urge to take over, instead, leaving her breast to seek out the dip of her waist. He fisted his hand in the folds of the course fabric gathered there and tugged, loosening the knot enough to slip his hand under the waistband of her overalls. Her thighs opened for him, and he growled approvingly, whispering a hot “Good girl.” against her lips, watching a blush creep up her cheeks from under his lashes.

Vegeta walked his fingers through the crisp hair hidden under her bikini briefs and slid them between the folds of her flesh, holding her open and groaned longingly, biting his own lip, fighting his own control. “You’re so fucking wet, Bulma.” He rubbed his middle finger against the slick seam of her pussy and took a shuddering breath to steady himself.

She whimpered, a breath away from him, his talented fingers curling against her heated flesh. She reached out to grip his shoulders for support against the dark, sinuous feeling unfurling low in her stomach.

“You’re crazy good at this.” She murmured and was rewarded when he tapped lightly against her entrance, sinking the tip of his finger into her. Her whole body trembled around him, and she sobbed as he withdrew, only to surge forward again, deeper this time. It was one of his favourite moves because, quite frankly, it got a significant rise out of her, sensitive as she was to that initial penetration.

Her head fell back, exposing the long column of her neck and Vegeta was fixated with her pulse, fluttering energetically in her throat. Fancying he could hear the rush of blood, he couldn’t help but place his mouth against it, swirling his tongue around the spot. She tensed beneath him, and he pressed himself deeper, grazing her clit with his palm. Vegeta nipped her with his small fangs, drawing a shiver from her and a needy growl.

Bulma rocked against his hand, matching his pace and she dug her sharp, manicured nails into his shoulders, revelling in the sharp hiss that action elicited. Power. In the twitch and bunch of muscles beneath the pads of her fingers, shimmering in the air between them. She couldn’t sense ki by any means, but she knew the taste of it very well. Ozone and recent rainfall.

One of her hands slid up his neck, combing through his hair and he needed. Wanted her so damn bad - he didn’t think the feeling would ever lessen over time, it certainly hadn’t thus far. Her skin was hot, and he wondered briefly if they should go indoors to save her sunburn, but only a stronger man could pull themselves away from her now, he thought ruefully. She moved against his hand sinfully, and he managed to add a second finger to the mix, pressing his thumb against her clit.

“Vegeta, yes…” She murmured, and he felt the echo of her words against her throat. 

Bulma jerked against him, feeling her body clench and tremble around his fingers. He sped up, and she drew in a deep, steadying breath, each thrust causing her pleasure to swell and ebb in ever increasing highs. 

She was so wet he had trouble thinking of anything else, his fingers gliding so damn smoothly inside of her, he almost missed the flicker at the edge of his awareness. His mate’s body clenched around him, primed for him and it was his to take her over the edge whenever he chose.

His rhythm faltered for a split second, and he screwed his eyes shut, groaning a heartfelt, “Fuck.”

There was no mistaking the dot of ki still some distance away. It felt like him, but smaller, more vibrant and not as controlled. 

“Please, Vegeta, I ca n’t-…” His woman writhed against him. The sound of his name on her lips stroked his pride and every dark hiding behind his breast. 

“I know.” He groaned against her neck, wishing he could keep her there for as long as possible, but the tiny flame of ki was just a block away. 

He closed his eyes, summoning his own ki. It was cheating, he knew, but necessary. Power rushed to his fingers and arced from the pad of his thumb to her clit. A silent thunderclap thudded in his chest.

Bulma stiffened, crying out incoherently as her release rushed over her with little warning other than a silent thud in her chest from his ki releasing. She gripped him tighter, clawed at his back, his clever fingers prolonging her climax as long as he could.

He held her close, nuzzling at her neck as she recovered her breath. Gingerly, he slid his hand out from her pants, wiped it on his chest. A car engine cut off just outside on the street. 

“This isn’t over, mate,” Vegeta growled near her shoulder, nipping to emphasise his words.

Bulma’s eyes widened. “Shit! The nursery!” She all but leapt off of him like he was on fire, hands flying to her hair and frantically pulling the overalls over her. She buttoned it up, glaring at him. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

He watched her insolently, laying back on the lounger, arms behind his head, muscles stretching over his scarred torso.

“I have, you’re the one still here wasting time.” He said, raising an arrogant brow.

More expletives fell from her lips as she gave herself one more quick look over before heading into their home to retrieve their son from the daycarers. Vegeta watched her go, settling back against the slats with a satisfied rumble in his chest, watching her retreat.


	2. Prompt 2 - Fireflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma continues her work on restoring the newest addition to the Briefs classic car collection. Meanwhile, Vegeta is determined to finish what they started earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, this chapter turned out to be incredibly difficult to get down - I think I must have scrapped it at least twice! A good kind of scrapping though, getting rid of the chaff to replace it with some of the cool new things I've been reading in some of the old writers reference books I dug out of my spare room. Hopefully there's a marked improvement on Chapter 1.
> 
> If you like what you read please consider leaving Kudos or a comment - I'd love to hear from you :)
> 
> Also you can find all my latest updates on fan fiction, fan art and plots at armored-dragon-blog. tumblr. com
> 
> Thanks for stopping by!

_Same Day, Evening_

“… You’re listening to West City Radio, and now it’s over to Shaun Croft for the weather…”

Bulma listened to the report coming over the speaker of her phone, reviewing schematics spread haphazardly out on the kitchen worktop. Her fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the creased paper, a frown of concentration on her brow. The calculations were all wrong, she needed more power for much less gas than the standard Chevrolet model was giving, so she scratched down several more quick notes with a pencil whose stub had been chewed to within an inch of its life.

“I told you this wasn’t over.” Vegeta’s deep voice purred near her ear, and two strong hands landed on the worktop to either side, caging her in. Bulma practically leapt out of her skin, the half-finished equation on the page in front of her brutally struck out by the scrawl of pencil lead. With preternatural swiftness, the Saiyan leaned out of the way, narrowly avoiding being struck in the chin. Choking back an undignified, strangled screech, she planted her feet back into the marble floor, straightening her back primly.

She closed her eyes, mustering her nerves, taking a deep, calming breath - she could just imagine the annoyingly smug expression on his arrogant face - and counted to ten, trying to inhale enough air to stop her heart and lungs escaping through her throat. “Vegeta! I swear to Kami-“

But he interrupted her, “Shh, you’ll wake the boy and then you’ll have to put him back to bed because I sure as hell am not going to.” He leaned in closer, she could see him in her periphery vision, the heat from his chest seeping through her overalls. His chin came to rest on her shoulder, and she knew he was trying to read her abominable handwriting.

“Then don’t sneak up on me, doofus.” She hissed tartly.

“Be more aware of your surroundings, I could have been anyone.” He countered, shifting to settle his weight against her. She leaned into him, soaking up the extra body heat that Saiyan’s produced, higher than humans - her own personal nuclear reactor. He smelled of sun, dry grass and his own, unique dark and rich scent. 

Vegeta jabbed a finger at a formula in one of the margins. “That is incorrect.”

Bulma stared at the numbers blankly, the plans laid out in front of her all but forgotten beneath his overwhelming presence. She ran it all through her head and then traced the formula written beneath it. “Shit! That’s why none of this works out!” Clinging to his forearm, she scrubbed out her workings and replaced them with new ones. “How did you-?” The question was lost, though when her dark-haired prince turned his face into her neck. She heard him take a deep drag of her scent, an incredibly personal and intimate gesture he saved exclusively for when they were alone. Saiyans were extremely tactile and sense based creatures. In their time together, it had been one of the strangest, oddly exhilarating things to learn about her alien lover. She had no doubt most women would go to great lengths, worrying about how they smelled or why their partner insisted on so brazenly sniffing at them.

Not her though. She figured that a Saiyan male didn’t need to smell strong fragrances or soaps on their female, in fact, the stronger scents were often an irritant. Scenting her came as natural and unconsciously to him as did breathing - and it didn’t matter that she had worked all day in a lab or the workshop or whether she was freshly showered. At first, it had been incredibly awkward, but now she realised the scent of one’s mate had a uniquely calming quality to it as if the knowledge that everything was right with their world tempered their inherent need for conflict or battle. She theorised it was also a natural aphrodisiac - which, honestly, wasn’t such a bad thing.

Vegeta brought his free arm around her middle, nudging the curve of her ear, his breath searing against her skin and Bulma felt a blush darken her cheeks when he whispered, “We’ve unfinished business, woman, I would rather not debate the theories of motion or fuel economy…”

_Talk nerdy to me, Homeboy..._ she thought hotly but instead, aloud, said, “Rain.” 

A pause, then when neither she, nor Vegeta moved to expand further, added, “The news is forecasting rain in a day or two. I need to get back to work on the old girl, don’t want her getting waterlogged before she’s even had a chance to live again.” Her mind was scrambling to think straight with his proximity, her body’s natural chemical reaction to him delicious in its slow, burning intensity. She didn’t need the heightened senses of his race to sense the change in his own. An almost imperceptible stillness came over him, a tightening of the muscles in his jaw. Her husband was on the hunt, and his favourite type of prey was currently cornered with nowhere to run.

The thick band of his arm around her middle tightened as though he thought she would slip out of his grasp.

“I do not see the meaning of holding such sentimental value for a machine with a specific function. It either performs it sufficiently, or it does not. Machines do not have genders.” He said.

Bulma twisted around to glare at him, jabbing a finger at his chest and cutting his approving purr short. “Watch it, mister.” For Kami’s sake, his pectoral muscle didn’t even budge under the pressure of her finger pad. “Don’t let, Eighteen hear you say that.”

“Eighteen is an Android - that is different.” He narrowed his coal grey gaze on her, pointedly moving between her face and her finger, still pressed against him. Her toes curled at that scorching look, fizzing flares of pleasure igniting along her spine and a fresh rush of heat pooling low in her stomach.

Neither was willing to break eye contact first - she had become quite adept at this facet of their relationship. Saiyan’s respected strength and though she didn’t have the physical traits that her husband had, she could more than make up for it with posturing. After all, Vegeta’s mate had to be more than a match for him - the warrior race would accept nothing less in their mates. Bulma Briefs was every bit as smart, ferocious and fierce as her husband, ten times the woman his precious Saiyan people could ever hope to produce.

She knew the instant he grasped the game she played because suddenly he was so close, his face inches from hers, breath fanning her cheeks. She stood her ground, though and he chuffed out a short laugh, clasping her wrist, still hovering between them, and brought it up to eye level. Bulma watched, fascinated at the flash of fangs - practically indiscernible from human teeth unless you knew what to look for - as they scraped across the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist. His smug expression told her he knew exactly what he was doing, knew the slow curl of heat swirling straight to her head was because of him.

“I still need to make sure the workshop is waterproof.” She persisted, albeit halfheartedly, gaze fixed on his mouth and the wicked things he was doing to her wrist.

His tongue joined in, swiping across her pulse, and she fought incredibly hard to stop her legs buckling under the weight of sex appeal oozing from him at that moment.

“You can check later.” He said. “I might be convinced to help, even.” He was working his way down her arm now, nipping and laving. She shivered, finally yielding, wrapping her arms around his neck. That was all the answer he needed, planting his hands firmly on her waist, he pulled her flush against him and lowered his lips to hers. She could feel every hard muscle in his chest and thighs against her own. The heat was otherworldly.

Bulma met his kiss with her own, sinking her fingers into the springy hair at his nape, holding him to her. It started off chaste and questing but flared quickly into a fiery claiming. She felt his hands involuntarily flex, fisting in the fabric of her overalls before they sunk lower to cup her rear. He lifted her then, placing her on the worktop. Somewhere in their haze, she heard paper, pencils and spare parts go sweeping across the surface and clattering to the floor loudly. They paused. Gazes locked, senses sharpened, breath held and straining to hear any sound from deeper in the house.

She broke the tableau first, raking her nails lightly over the back of his neck and nipping at his lower lip encouragingly. She felt him release the breath he had been holding, immediately inhaling sharply as her small nails played over his skin. 

Vegeta shifted, settling himself between her thighs, letting her expertly rekindle their kiss while he busied himself pulling the poppers down the front of her overalls. Her breasts ached to be touched, and the feel of the heavy fabric was all at once irritating and restricting. When he pulled it aside, the air was a welcome reprieve. She shimmied, helping him bunch the thick cotton around her waist. Returning her hands to their exploration of his back, she tugged at his black tee insistently until he let go of her long enough to pull it over his head and throw it behind them.

This was much better, the slide of his warm skin against hers, his calloused hands shaping her rib cage, thumbs hooked into the straps of her bikini top. She let her own hands wander freely, tracing the thin, white lines of old scars and feeling his muscles twitch under her touch. Her alien warlord may have been able to destroy worlds with his fingertips, but hers had the incredible ability to make him dance to her tune.

“So, this unfinished business…?” She mused aloud, angling her head to give him better access to her neck and shoulder as he trailed small, biting kisses down her jaw. “I seem to remember I was quite finished.”

A puff of hot breath, Vegeta snorting a short laugh. “You would have been pissed at me otherwise.”

“I guess so.” She leaned back, hooking her legs around his waist and kicking off her sneakers, this of course, had the added benefit of bringing the hard ridge of his arousal flush with her core. Still too many layers of clothes between them, though, she thought. Feeling mischievous and not an ounce sorry for having left him the remainder of the day without release, she angled her foot, scrubbing the patch of scar tissue at the base of his spine, where his tail would have been. Vegeta jerked at the contact, leaving his thorough investigation of her shoulder to glare at her. He was biting his lip, looking like the proverbial dark prince, trying desperately to hold on to his monumental discipline. She rubbed the spot again, just to revel in his reaction, grinning triumphantly.

“Vulgar woman.” He grated between clenched teeth, the muscles in his jaw jumping.

They struggled briefly together in a fury of desperate kisses and needy hands, easing the overalls over her hips, down and off her legs. They joined his tee somewhere behind him, but she didn’t have time to wonder where because he was sliding his palms up her calves, grasping at her thighs and wrapping her around his trim waist again. His jeans were rough against the pale skin of her inner thighs. Her mind clouded over with the sensation of all that lean muscle and skin currently sliding against her, doing tremendously wicked things to her body. Bulma reached behind herself, snagging the loose knot of her bikini and pulling it free. The whole thing fell away, replaced by the heat of his breath above her nipple. She shuddered, his tongue swiping roughly over the tight bud.

“Ah, yes.” She hissed, raking her nails down his front.

His hands moved up over her hips, pulling her to him. The sound of a growl, low in his chest rolled languidly in the air between them, her body picking up the vibrations from his mouth. Bulma reached between them, walking her fingers down the delectable V muscle disappearing under the waistband of his jeans, tracing her way across, she deftly unbuttoned the fly and slid into the gap between denim and his flat stomach. She buried them in the crisp hairs surrounding the base of his shaft. He made a strangled, needy sound and bit down, making her jump. His hips lifted to meet her hand, pressing his erection into her palm, aggressively masculine and insistent.

His own hand wandered lower, hooking his fingers under the edge of her panties and pressing his knuckles against her entrance, finding her wet and welcoming. Just to be sure though, he sunk one, then two fingers easily into her, groaning. Bulma rocked against him, a small mewl escaping her lips, the feeling of his talented digits moving inside of her at once filling but not nearly enough. “Kami, you’re drenched…” He said hotly, drawing in a deep breath. “That scent… I-I can’t be gentle…”

“It’s ok.” She breathed near his ear, drawing her fist up his shaft lazily, then down again. A full-body shudder ran the length of him, and he clasped her wrist, gently extracting himself from her. He undid the zipper of his jeans, freeing himself before dipping his hands under her rear. He tugged, pulling her with him backwards and was moving, his back slamming against the fridge, scattering magnets, shopping lists and nursery paintings.

Bulma gripped his shoulders for support. Holding her with one hand - and really, did Saiyans have to show off at every opportunity? - He undid the knots at her side. Her bikini pants fluttered away, leaving her bared to him. He wasted no time gripping her butt again, positioning himself at her entrance, the crown of his cock resting against her pink folds. Bulma squirmed, impatient.

“Easy, easy.” He crooned, pressing into her, watching her expression for any sign of discomfort. His whole body shook under her hands with the effort of holding himself back. She spread her fingers in his hair, gripping just a little harder than should have been comfortable, capturing and holding his gaze, forehead to forehead. When he was in to the hilt, he paused, glancing at their joined bodies, then at her, waiting. She moved, testing for soreness but when she could only find a pleasurable fullness, she nodded, wordlessly encouraging him. Her prince pulled back, lifting her, then surged forwards, his big hands splayed across her butt, holding her at his mercy.

He thrust again this time heavier, and the fridge behind them shook. Vegeta dipped his head to her breast, finding a steady, sustainable rhythm to his thrusts and she tightened her grip on his hair, rocking to meet him. Her head swam with pleasure, the slick slide of their bodies and short gasps obscene in the silence. She was flushed, rose pink against his darker skin, crisscrossed with pale scars in stark comparison. Her body fit his perfectly, clutching at his hard length, driving her higher in waves of sensation.

Her Saiyan swore in his native language, a string of hot curses, breath stirring over her sensitive nipple. Bulma shivered, murmuring into his brow. His lips traced over her breast, trailing desperate kisses up to her neck and jaw and she met him ferociously, biting at his lower lip, bruisingly. He growled low in his chest, springing away from the fridge and stumbling forwards.

Her surprised squeal was swallowed by his mouth covering hers, back and rear hitting the wooden tabletop with a thud. He was untangling her feet from behind him, rising above her with a look of stark determination in his grey eyes that made her stomach flip. He pinned one thigh at his waist, the other, hooked over his shoulder, changing the angle and depth of his thrust.

Bulma felt the swell of pleasure undulate higher with this new position, a sense of vertigo, of standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering over. Her alien warlord was deep in pursuit of his own end, braced above her, driving himself unrelentingly. Every time he hit a particularly perfect thrust, she gasped, body rising up. He would pause, repeat the motion with a brow raised in silent question. The Saiyan prince had been an extremely quick study in the early days, learning her body’s tells and responses with single-mindedness - activities Bulma did not mind in the least being the test subject for.

She held onto his forearm, leveraging her strength and his steadiness to take control of her own pleasure. He was watching her, timing his thrusts just right, working in unison with her. The muscles in her groin stretched to keep her leg hooked around his shoulder, ached deliciously and the friction from his denim jeans created an odd sensation that wasn’t entirely unwelcome. He paused to swipe his thumb pad across his tongue, wetting it, before reaching between them and pressing against her clit, rubbing.

“Ah, Vegeta, yes!” She gasped, squirming under him. The tight bundle of nerves flared, and she screwed her eyes shut tight, riding the waves, clinging onto him desperately.

He changed his rhythm, short, sharp thrusts, his breathing ragged. The table shook beneath them, and for a moment Bulma vaguely wondered whether she would need to repair it after they were done, but there was no time to think on it further because he was pinching her clit between thumb and forefinger and her whole world was spiralling.

She dug her nails into his forearm, urging him on, the burn in her thigh muscles and groin stealing her breath.

“Fuck.” He grated between clenched teeth. He gave one, two more heavy thrusts before pulling out.

He took himself in hand, pumping short and fast. 

The Saiyan was silent when he climaxed, and Bulma saw the effort it cost him, to not roar the way instinct told him, turning his face into her calf instead, his nostrils flaring and puffing out great bouts of breath as his body shuddered. He held her leg to him, absently scraping his fangs across her flesh. The smell of ozone and recent rainfall permeated the air in the room, the only evidence of his Ki she was capable of detecting - aside from the physical changes to his body.

She waited, her own pleasure beginning to slip away and was about to say something into the heavy silence, but his grip tightened on her thigh, smouldering gaze locking with hers. Bulma swallowed, thrilled and nervous both under that hot stare. With infinite slowness, his hand trailed down her leg, swept under, tracing the curve of her rear, up.

A purr vibrated low in his chest when his fingers found her still wet. “I should leave you wanting like you did to me.” He mused aloud, tracing the seam of her pussy possessively.

She knew there was a wicked chance he would do just that.

He slid one finger inside of her, to the knuckle, curling it and her head fell back against the table, a moan on her lips. Above and behind her, in the kitchen window, the sun was setting, red and orange light spilling in across the ceiling and catching the metal cutlery in the drying rack, splitting into hundreds of small dots. Vegeta curled his finger again, against the tiny, hidden cluster of nerve endings and she swore she saw fireflies dancing, in the last rays of sun, at the edges of her vision, that one movement making the air rush out of her lungs.

“Do you want that?” He asked, pulling his finger out, circling the soft pink flesh, teasing, “I could just walk away now.”

She shook her head, emphatically, “N-no, please.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I thought you said you had work to do?” But he was pulling her to him again, lifting her hips and hooking her other leg around his shoulder. He blew a scorching breath over her entrance, and the sight of them there, so close and unbelievably intimate almost made Bulma whiteout with desire.

Her throat dry, she replied, “I think it can wait.” Her core muscles twitched pleasurably, keeping her body balanced.

One arm steadying her, the other snaked around her hips, two fingers pressed explicitly against her mound, holding her open to him. She bit her lip, equal parts aroused and bashful, she wasn’t sure which to attribute the pink flush over her skin.

He wouldn’t let her gaze drop from his, holding it mercilessly as he lowered his head to her pussy. The first rasp of his rough tongue against her flesh made her jump, but he was there, holding her firmly in place.

“Kami, Vegeta!” She breathed, drinking the sight of him in greedily.

The second swipe was followed swiftly with his mouth covering her clit, enshrouding it in his dark, wet heat and her whole body shuddered under the wave of pleasure that swelled dangerously over, threatening to drown her.

He was relentless, circling the small nub of flesh with his tongue, catching it lightly in his teeth. He shifted, widening his jaw and delved deep with his tongue, mimicking the earlier actions of his body, the fingers holding her open, massaging her flesh. 

Her orgasm tore through her, thighs trembling either side of his head. Vegeta kept moving, riding out her climax until she was too sensitive and squirmed away from him, lowering her to the table and leaning over. He brushed his lips against hers lightly, and she fisted a hand in his hair, deepening their kiss, tasting herself on his tongue.

Pushing away from her reluctantly, he tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped the fly. He glanced around, finally snagging the discarded pile of clothes with his toe, moving them across the floor to hide the evidence of their lovemaking. When her head stopped spinning, Bulma tentatively sat up. The table groaned, and she leapt to her unsteady feet. He was there in an instant, arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her.

“I think I need a whiskey.” She muttered.

He snorted a laugh and agreed, gesturing her forward and out of the kitchen. “Make that two.” 

On her way past him, he reached out one last caress down her shoulder and spine. The sharp sting of him thwacking her butt made her yelp, and she glared at him over her shoulder, a token effort of outrage. He cocked a brow, arrogantly folding his arms against his bare chest. She could almost hear his mind contemplating whether he had the wherewithal for a second round.

“You can tidy up the kitchen then, those schematics aren’t going to pick themselves up.” She said, padding barefoot out of the kitchen, a little extra sway in her hips, deliberately taunting him.


End file.
